Derailed
by CoffeeEyes
Summary: Stiles struggles to deal with the loss of Derek and what it really means to him. Then he struggles to understand why he's suddenly seeing Derek everywhere. *This is a 4 chapter epilogue for the fic "The Killer In You". It WILL NOT make sense unless you've read The Killer In You*
1. What A Way To Go Out

**_What A Way To Go Out_**

* * *

_Once again, this is an epilogue for "The Killer In You"._  
_If you haven't read that yet, I'd suggest doing so before you read this, or else it will not make sense._  
_That being said, you don't have to read this is you DID read The Killer In You. I left it the way I did in case some people were okay with the original ending. (And if you weren't, that's okay because this was made specifically to give you closure!)_  
_Enjoy :]_

* * *

Stiles isn't even aware of muttering "Please don't call my dad" over and over to Scott from where he sits, crumpled on the ground next to Derek's still body, but Scott hears it. He hears it, so instead of calling the Sheriff (despite his better judgment), he respects his best friend and calls Chris Argent. He knows he needs to call_ someone_ - they shouldn't have to deal with this on their own, they're still just _kids_ - so he calls his own girlfriend's father. When Chris sleepily asks what's going on, Scott tells him that it's an emergency, but not to call the Sheriff, and to just get to the Hale household as soon as he can. And thankfully (it's probably because Chris is so used to working outside of the police by now) he listens.

Even though he's sure that Chris is speeding to get there as fast as possible, Scott still has to wait. He still has to wait and watch his best friend fall apart, slumped over the cold, unmoving body of the man who tried to kill him. He has plenty of questions, but he knows better than to ask. They can wait. Instead, he's there for his friend the only way he knows how to be. It takes him a few moments to muster up the courage to do so - to be fair, he's only seen two bodies in his entire life - but eventually he crouches down next to Stiles' shaking form and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, murmuring out, "Hey... It's okay..."

It takes less than twenty minutes before Scott hears the SUV pulling up outside of the house and he reluctantly stands, glancing at Stiles one last time before walking away. "I'll be right back," He says softly, even though he's sure that Stiles can't hear him, not through his haze. He doesn't even look away from Derek as Scott stands and walks away.

"What's going on?" Chris asks all seriousness and nerves as he jumps out of the driver's side of the car. Allison is in the passenger seat - and Scott wishes she wasn't because she _does not_ need to see this - but he's glad that they didn't bring anyone else.

Scott stops him before he can walk in the house, hands on his shoulders. "Before I tell you anything, you need to swear that you won't tell the Sheriff. I don't know if Stiles can take it."

Chris' eyes narrow, "_What is it_, Scott?"

He swallows hard. "Derek is dead."

* * *

Thankfully, Chris sticks to his word. Even after finding his friends dead - even after telling Allison to go wait in the car because she doesn't need to see this - he sticks to his word. "I'll have to tell their families," He says softly, glancing toward Stiles, "But I won't tell the his father."

"Thank you," Scott says softly, eyes still locked on Stiles, who still hasn't moved from his place over Derek. "What about them?"

"I'll take care of it," Chris replies, watching Stiles as well, "We'll bury them out here."

It should make Scott scared that Chris has experience in this - covering up murders and burying bodies - but right now he can't bring himself to care, not with the way that Stiles is still slumped over Derek, clutching onto him as if he'll come back to life.

"What about Stiles?" Scott asks softly, finally tearing his eyes away from him to glance at Chris.

"He's the one who shot Derek?" He asks in return, and Scott nods. At that, he swallows hard. "Right. Well he's going to need a friend there for him. Taking a life isn't easy, even if it is someone who deserves it. How about you get him out of here and I'll take care of the rest, alright?"

Scott nods stiffly, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Chris replies gruffly, clapping him on the shoulder, "At least it's finally over."

Scott wishes he could say the same.

Chris leaves the two of them alone in the house to gather themselves while he goes to his car to grab a few things that he needs, and after a few moments of trying to figure out the right way to do things, Scott is crouching down by Stiles again, hand on his shoulder. "Stiles," He says softly, willing him to look up. He doesn't, of course. He doesn't even acknowledge his presence. It's as if Derek is suddenly the most important thing in the universe to him, which worries Scott more than he'll admit. "Stiles, we have to go."

And that apparently strikes something in Stiles, because he's sitting up at that, turning to look at Scott. "I can't," He says quietly, eyes pleading.

"We need to," Scott replies softly, gripping him a little harder. "Chris needs to take care of things."

Stiles eyes widen at that, "_Chris_?"

"Argent, yeah," Scott confirms, "Don't worry, he's not going to tell your dad."

Stiles quickly glances back down at Derek at that, then back at Scott, "What's he going to do with him?"

"He said he'll bury them around here. He won't tell anybody. But we have to go, Stiles."

He shakes his head frantically at that, and Scott realizes that Stiles is still gripping Derek's limp hand. "I can't."

"We have to," Scott repeats. He stands at that, pulling at Stiles to get him to stand as well. And maybe it's because he's already weak from fighting so hard or maybe he's just given up, but he allows himself to be hoisted to his feet without any more arguing, with one last touch to Derek's pale face and a soft goodbye. He walks on shaky legs - Scott is carrying most of his weight, to be honest - and doesn't even notice Chris or Allison watching them as they make their way to the Jeep. He's still in his haze, even as Scott helps him into the passenger seat, even buckling his seat belt for him. And he's still in a haze as they pull out of the driveway and he watches Derek's house disappear in the mirror.

* * *

The Sheriff doesn't find out.

Chris doesn't tell him, which is good thing, but it also means that Stiles still has to go back to school on Monday because his father has absolutely no idea what happened.

The only people that know the truth are Scott and Allison and they try to be there for him - they try to understand - but they can't. Not really, not fully. Not when they don't know what_ really_ happened behind closed doors. Scott tries to understand why his best friend seems so heartbroken and empty, but he can't. Even when he puts all of the pieces together - the bits of conversation he could overhear from outside of Stiles' house and the way that he acted that night - it doesn't make sense, and he accepts that he might never know why.

Regardless, they try to make things easier for Stiles, despite him numbly assuring that he's okay. Allison keeps a close eye on Stiles when Scott can't, and Stiles even notices that Chris is around his house more than usual too, as if he's looking out for him. And he doesn't tell Stiles' father, just like he promised, out of respect for the kid.

Stiles feels bad for his friends. He knows that they're trying - struggling - to understand why he's acting the way he is. He knows that Scott still doesn't understand why he reacted the way he did to finding Derek threatening to kill his best friend. Scott doesn't understand why Stiles felt like a part of him died when Derek did.

But then again, Stiles doesn't fully understand why, either.

He had just started to sort things out in his head that night after Derek came by his house. He was finally coming to accept that his feelings for Derek - however unhealthy they may be - were there to stay. And that the feeling was mutual. Or at least somewhat. It definitely made it easier for those feelings to manifest, though, when Derek was being nice to him and saving his life, like he used to. And you know... The whole kissing thing, too.

So Stiles tries not to be ashamed of his feelings anymore. What he felt - what he experienced - was real. Regardless of how unhealthy and somewhat one-sided it was, it was real, and he can't help how that makes him feel. It's hard, but he finally comes to terms with what happened between him and Derek.

He _can't_ come to terms with Derek's death, however.

Stiles thinks it's ironic, after wishing for an entire year that his father had just pulled the trigger, that all he wants now is for Derek to be okay. For everything to just be one bad dream. He finds it ironic, when he wakes up in the morning, that he wishes that he wouldn't have listened to Derek that night. That he _wouldn't _have pulled the trigger.

It's hard to function, but then again, it always has been. His life is ridiculous, and even he knows that. Even _before_ he found out about Derek and that stupid black book, before that fateful night, and before the events over the course of the past few months, his life was a mess. His best friend was a Goddamned _werewolf_, and when those adventures weren't dangerous, stressful, or draining enough, he had to fix everything, save everyone, and still be up for school the next morning. He hadn't been getting along with his father, was still mourning the loss of his mother, had a terrible social life, and was constantly throwing himself in the line of fire for the one friend he _did_ have. And on top of all of that, and any other normal teenage things, he had to deal with _Derek_ and the Alpha pack and his _feelings_.

So, yeah, when all of that adds up, it makes sense why it's hard to function. From any outside perspective, it's a totally natural reaction to all of the stress and danger and pressure that he's been put under. But in Stiles' eyes, he sees himself as pathetic. In _his_ eyes, he managed to almost get himself killed (putting even more stress on his father), then actually acquire _feelings_ for the one person who tried to kill him, which in turn almost got his best friend killed. And then on top of that, he managed to kill Derek. So in Stiles' eyes, he's a royal fuck-up. But he hides it well.

When you've been wearing that mask - telling everyone you're okay and not dealing with your problems - for as long as he has, it comes natural.

He still talks to the school counselor every other day. Sometimes it helps. Even though he can't tell her about _everything_ that happened, he can open up a little, and yeah, it does help. But then he's out those doors and Scott and Allison are watching him as if he's on the verge of killing himself or doing something equally crazy, and he's right back to where he started.

He can't sleep, and when he does, he has nightmares. They're different than before, though. Before - after Derek tried to kill him - he'd have nightmares of a terrifying creature with piercing red eyes, lurking in the shadows. He'd have dreams of being chased, or of Derek waiting in his room for him. He'd dream of Derek taking his time slicing him open, slowly and intimately.

These nightmares are different, though. Instead of angry, red eyes peering at him from the dark, there's Derek - natural, soft eyes - staring at him, begging, pleading for him to do the right thing.

Stiles wakes up wondering if he _did _do the right thing.

Regardless, it's all over and done with. There's no going back. That's the part that hurts the worst. It's permanent. Derek's not locked away, still very much alive and fighting, in a cell. Stiles could have dealt with that. And he's not away, living a new life in a new state. He could have dealt with that, too. No. Instead, he's gone. And he's not coming back. That's the part that absolutely _kills_ Stiles. Derek is gone, and Stiles _isn't_. He's left alone to sort out the mess that is his life and try to pick up the pieces.

He feels like there's unfinished business. That what happened between the two of them over the course of those couple of months is still new. That they could have worked something out. Of course Stiles knows that it's naïve - that if Derek was still alive, they'd probably never see each other again anyway - but it doesn't make it hurt any less.

He _would_ go off and fall for with the man who tried to kill him. Typical Stiles.

He also tries not to think about the fact that what he felt for Derek was something more than hatred and something more than Stockholm Syndrome. That he might have actually had feelings for him. That what he's feeling now could quite honestly - among other things - be heartbreak.

* * *

_AN:  
So I originally intended to make this a 1-2 parter but then I wrote over 10,000 words and I wanted to space it out a little bit, so it's going to have 4 chapters. I guess it's more of a sequel than an epilogue, but oh well. Hope you guys like :]_

_Also the fic and 1st chapter title are from the song "Derailed" by Scary Kids Scaring Kids._


	2. Lucky Me

**_Lucky Me_**

* * *

_Cut deep into bone and marrow.  
Far too deep to never wanna get out now.  
Those first nights swept away in a drunken flood of rain and spilled guts.  
Afraid to get too close, reopen wounds that just bled through.  
Now I've been torn apart._

* * *

After about a month, it's a little easier to cope. Scott has stopped looking at Stiles like he's a wounded animal, and Allison seems to have stopped pitying him, so either he is doing better, or he's just getting better at hiding the fact that he's still dying inside. But when his friends aren't treating him like he's on the verge of committing suicide, it makes it a little easier to cope. A little easier to breathe.

_Finally._

He doesn't feel as if he's in a haze anymore. Or at least it's not as thick. He doesn't get an aching feeling in his chest when he wakes up in the morning, and he takes that as a good sign. That maybe - slowly - things might be getting a little better.

The nightmares are still there, but they're not as bad. Sometimes Derek talks to him - tells him not to be afraid, not to blame himself - and that's better than the silent pleading, but it doesn't mean that Stiles doesn't still wake up with tears in his eyes.

The pain is still there, too, but it's just a dull ache, now, compared to the searing in his chest in the beginning. It's managable. It doesn't hurt to hold a conversation with his father or his friends anymore.

He's coping, and he's doing a pretty good job at it, too.

That is, until the nightmares suddenly get worse.

The first time it happens, Stiles wakes with a start. He's been having the same reoccurring dreams for over a month now, so when his dream is filled with flames and screams and _not _Derek, it's absolutely terrifying. He sits straight up in his bed, half expecting his house to be on fire, and rubs his hands over his face a few times quickly, trying to rid himself of the images burning in his mind when he closes his eyes. His body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his breathing is heavy.

He doesn't go back to sleep that night.

And after that, the dreams only continue. For the first week, it's the same. A burning house. Screams. The smell of searing flesh. Every time, he wakes up, heart racing, and tries to forget it, but it feels so real. It's as if he were there.

The counselor says that it could be stress related and gives him some relaxation tips to try before bed, but they don't work.

It's a week later when the dreams change again. This time, he's in a house - the _same_ burning house, part of him just _knows _it - but it looks clean, simple and put together. Most importantly, it's not on fire. There's a woman carrying a basket of laundry through a warm looking living room while two children play on the floor and she smiles down at them before sitting down on the couch. It feels warm, happy. It's completely different than his other dreams. It's a nice change. There's light filtering in through the window, and Stiles can hear birds chirping off in the distance. When he takes a deep breath, he can smell the fresh, spring air. It's a _good_ change.

Stiles is a spectator in the dream, watching the happy family in the warm, familiar looking house. He watches - listens - as the kids, a girl and a boy, argue over how to play a game. And he watches as the mother smiles fondly at them bickering. It isn't until he sees a familiar looking person, sitting in the opposite corner of the room that he realizes why the house looks so familiar.

His heart practically stops when his eyes come to rest on him.

Derek sits in a chair on the other end of the room, watching, just like Stiles. His corner is dark, charred, and Stiles wonders why he didn't notice it before. The warmth and happiness is quickly replaced by fear and longing as Derek stands from his corner, eyes on Stiles.

"That's me," Derek says to Stiles. His voice sounds far away, like it's under water, but he still hears it. "Me and Laura, when we were little," He continues, eyes never leaving Stiles. Suddenly, the dream feels all too real. Stiles wills himself to wake up - to escape the eyes bearing into him - but he can't. He feels trapped. He begins to panic.

"Hey," Derek says softly, quickly crossing the room, walking through the playing children like a ghost. The charred wood and ashes follow him as he walks. "It's okay. We're safe here. This is when we were happy."

Stiles shakes his head frantically, willing himself to escape or scream or anything, but he can't. He's frozen on the spot and he can't speak and the dream feels too real. His breath is coming out in quick bursts now, threatening to send him into a panic attack.

"It's okay, we're okay," Derek reassures, voice soft, even as Stiles watches the walls slowly disintegrate into flames around them. It's hot. Stiles is sweating and he can feel tears rolling down his cheeks, but Derek just wipes them away.

"You'll be alright, trust me," Derek assures softly again, before suddenly leaning in to press a burning kiss to Stiles' lips.

And just as quick as Derek is there, leaning in and pressing their lips together, he's gone and Stiles is waking with a start. As he sits up and as he rubs his eyes, he quickly realizes that he's _not_ in his room, as he had assumed he would be. Instead, he's just barely inside the Hale household, slumped against a wall. He immediately begins to panic, scrambling around and standing quickly, looking around blindly in the dark, prepared for an attack. When it doesn't come after a few seconds, he's not sure if he should be relieved or not.

"Hello?" He calls out, voice breaking as he does do. When there's no response, not even a creak in the floorboards, he backs quickly out of the house and onto the porch. Once he's outside, Stiles begins to search himself, looking for any signs of a struggle or injuries. Instead, he quickly realizes that he's not only wearing the pajama pants that he went to bed in, but also his shoes and a hoodie. He reaches his hands into the pockets and lets out a sigh of relief when he feels his phone.

Stiles tries not to think about it too much as he calls Scott, praying that he picks up.

* * *

"You don't remember how you got there?" Scott asks twenty minutes later, driving down the dark road back to Stiles' house. Stiles is in the passenger seat of Mrs. McCall's car, knees huddled up to his chest.

He shakes his head quickly, "One minute, I was going to bed, the next I was waking up there."

Scott narrows his eyes, trying to work it out. "Any weird dreams?"

And Stiles considers lying, telling him that it was nothing, but decides against it. For all he knows, it could actually prove to be important. "Derek," He says softly.

"_What_?" Scott asks, turning to look at him. He looks terrified, and Stiles is sure that telling him about his dream isn't going to help, but he knows he's going to have to now. "Have you been having a lot of these dreams?"

Stiles sighs, deciding to go with honesty, "Yeah."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Scott asks, suddenly sounding like a concerned parent. Even the way that Scott looks at him is motherly.

Stiles avoids eye contact, looking down when he answers quietly, "I didn't want to worry you."

And Scott lets out a deep breath at that, but doesn't say anything. Stiles already knows that he _has_ worried him. "But this one was different," Scott presses softly, after a moment.

Stiles nods at that, clearing his throat, "Yeah. I dreamt that I was in his house before it burnt down. And then he was there and the house started burning. He was talking to me." He does decide, however, to leave out the part about Derek kissing him.

"What did he say?" Scott asks, glancing at him again.

Stiles swallows, "That I'd be alright."

Scott doesn't say anything in response.

* * *

Stiles doesn't go back to sleep that night. Instead, he sits in his room, knees huddled up to his chest, staring at the wall, willing himself not to think about things. Not to think about his dream, or how he ended up at Derek's house, dressed as if he had gotten ready.

* * *

Scott tells Allison about the incident the next morning at school before Stiles gets there. He doesn't want to, but he figures that if anyone could make any sense of the weird dreams and the sleepwalking, maybe her father can. He doesn't realize when Lydia begins eavesdropping on their hushed conversation, though, and he doesn't notice when she gasps quietly.

Lydia stops listening after she hears Scott tell Allison about the burning building in Stiles' dream. She stops listening, because she's trying not to think about similar dreams that she had about Peter over a year ago, followed by the hallucinations. She can't help but hope that Stiles isn't experiencing the same thing, because she'd never wish it upon anyone.

Stiles sits down next to her only a couple of minutes later, causing Scott and Allison to immediately stop talking. Scott turns in his seat, shooting Stiles a pained look, "You alright?"

Stiles just shrugs in response, and Lydia can't help but feel for him. Without even thinking about it, she's suddenly reaching across the aisle to his desk and touching his hand softly. He flinches at first, but manages a smile when he sees that it's just Lydia. "Hey," He says softly, glancing toward the front of the classroom as the teacher walks in.

Lydia opens her mouth to say something, but then their teacher is talking and she quickly drops Stiles' hand, reaching for her phone. She types out a quick text, feeling Stiles' eyes on her as she does so, before hitting send and shooting him a reassuring look.

And when Stiles' phone vibrates in his pocket, he glances at Lydia again before pulling it out and opening the text.

_"Look. I heard Scott and Allison talking before you came in, and I don't know what's going on, but if you need someone to talk to about things, I'm here. Believe it or not, I've been through the same kind of thing before. Remember the time you found me naked in the woods? Yeah. x."_ Stiles reads over the text quickly before glancing at Lydia, wide-eyed. He's not sure exactly how much she heard, but he's suddenly panicking internally at the thought of someone else knowing about things. He opens his mouth to speak, but Lydia just shushes him.

"It's fine," She whispers softly, "I won't say anything."

Stiles leaves his first class of the day with shaky legs, praying that Lydia hadn't heard too much. By the reassuring smile on her face and not a look of absolute disgust, it's safe to say that she didn't, but still...

He's rounding the corner to head to his locker, Scott and Allison trailing behind him at a safe monitoring distance, when his thoughts are cut short. One second, he's worrying about Lydia and his friends and his dreams, and the next, he's stopping dead in his tracks because there's _Derek Hale,_ leaning against his locker, staring straight at him. He holds the gaze for a long moment, trying to determine if he's going crazy or not before Scott bumps softly into him. "You okay dude?" He asks quietly, drawing Stiles' attention away for a split second.

"Do you see-" He starts, turning away from Scott and back to the locker and-

_There's nothing_. No Derek. Nobody that looks like Derek that he could have mistaken for him. Just... Nothing.

"See what?" Scott asks lightly, obviously trying not to sound worried.

Stiles shakes his head quickly, "Nothing."

* * *

Stiles doesn't want to go to sleep that night.

In fact, he stays up as late as he can, until his eyes are heavy and he's nodding in and out of consciousness before he does eventually go to bed. And of course, his last thoughts before bed are of Derek, of his hallucination in the hallway, and what his dreams are going to bring him.

This time, he's not in the house. Stiles feels a sense of relief rush over him at the realization of that, but then almost immediately feels it disappear when he realizes that he's not very far from it. Off in the distance, he can see the charred remains of the Hale household. He's standing in the woods, surrounded by trees, and he can't stop staring. It's a crisp autumn day, and he can actually feel the cool breeze in his hair. He can smell the leaves and the trees.

He's well aware that he's dreaming. That's the worst part of the dreams. He knows they're not real - no matter how _real _they feel - that all he has to do is wake up, but he can't. It's like he's trapped until the dream runs its course.

And as if on cue, Stiles feels the urge to look down, and when he does so, he realizes that he's standing in front of two small mounds of dirt. He doesn't have to stare long before he realizes that they're graves, freshly dug. And he doesn't have to think twice about whose they are. Stiles swallows hard, staring down at the ground, feeling guilty.

"Don't," A voice draws his attention away from the graves and Stiles gaze snaps up. Of course, it's Derek standing in front of him, arms crossed, watching him.

"What?" Stiles manages to rasp out his thought and _that's a first_. In all of the dreams - the first ones and fire ones and even the one last night - he hasn't been able to talk. He's tried. The first time he dreamt of Derek, he tried talking to him, tried telling him that he was sorry, but his voice caught in his throat. The first time he dreamt of the fire, he tried screaming for help, but no sound came out. It was useless. And last night, he tried, but couldn't. He's not sure why this time is different, but he can't think about it because then Derek is taking a step forward.

"Don't blame yourself," He says softly, walking until he's an arms length away from Stiles, "It's not your fault."

Stiles swallows hard, trying to come up with the right thing to say. If this is his one chance to talk in these dreams, he needs to ask the right questions. He needs to figure out what's going on. "Why can I talk?" He asks, voice raspy from disuse, "Before I couldn't. Now I can. What changed?"

Derek looks around for a moment, as if waiting for it to end, and when nothing happens, he replies, "It's getting stronger."

"What is?" Stiles asks quickly, "The dream?"

Derek nods, "It's not just a dream, but essentially, yes."

Stiles eyes widen, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's hard to explain," Derek responds with a sigh.

"Well try!" Stiles shouts, suddenly feel angry. With the anger, the dream changes. The sky darkens, transforming from a calm fall day to a dark, starless night. He looks around, surprised, but it doesn't seem to faze Derek.

Instead, he's stepping forward again, so they're only inches apart. "You saw me in the hallway today."

Stiles eyes widen, "Yeah, but I - that wasn't real. I was just seeing things. _How did you know_?"

"It was real," Derek pushes, "It was _me_."

"What?" Stiles hisses, trying to understand.

Without warning, Derek is reaching forward and grabbing Stiles' arms roughly, squeezing. Stiles pulls back instinctively, wincing in pain when Derek's claws dig into his skin in return. "You feel that?" Derek asks through gritted teeth, voice low.

Stiles struggles to pull away, suddenly terrified at the glowing red of Derek's eyes. It's been a while since he's felt that way, looking at Derek, and he can't help but think about that night in his room, long ago. Long claws buried deep into soft flesh. "Derek, let go," Stiles begs. He can feel tears welling in his eyes, "Stop this. _This isn't you_."

"_Do you feel it_?" Derek just growls in return, increasing the pressure on Stiles' arm. He can feel his skin break, the blood rushing out.

"Yes," Stiles whines out, "Please stop, Derek._ Please_."

And on cue, Derek immediately drops Stiles arms, taking a step back as if he just realized what he'd done. "This is real," He says softly, watching him, eyes wide. When Stiles doesn't say anything in return - just holds the injured arm close to his body - Derek takes a step forward. Stiles cowers in return, and Derek's eyes soften at that.

"I'm sorry," He says, voice soft, innocent. "I just needed to show you. It's real. This is _all_ real. And it's just getting stronger."

"What happens when it does?" Stiles asks, trying to stand tall again.

Derek looks away at that, taking a deep breath. "I don't know. This isn't how it's supposed to happen."

"How _what's_ supposed to happen?" Stiles asks, taking a step forward.

"Talk to Lydia," Derek says instead of answering, "She can help."

And then, instead of abruptly stopping like his other dreams, Stiles can see small details fading away. The house is nowhere to be seen in the background, and darkness is starting to engulf the far away trees. "Derek?" Stiles asks, voice small, looking up at him. It should feel strange, looking to Derek for comfort and reassurance, but it doesn't. Not to Stiles. Not anymore. And he doesn't even let himself worry about that now.

In an instant, Derek is surging forward, catching Stiles' parted lips in a soft kiss. He lingers for a moment, as long as he can, before pulling away. Their foreheads are pressed together, much like they had been as Derek slipped away in Stiles' arms, and Derek holds him close for as long as possible. "You'll be alright" Derek repeats the same line from the night before, "Everything's going to be okay."

And then he's gone.

When Stiles wakes up, he half expects to be in the middle of the woods. Instead, he's laying in bed, light is filtering in through his window, and his alarm is going off.

Stiles shakes himself out of it - it was just a dream - before swinging his legs around to the side of the bed, glad he got some sleep for once. When he goes to stand, though, he feels a sharp pain in his left arm, and when he lifts it to examine it, his heart nearly stops.

On his forearm, just where Derek had gripped him in his dream, there are three fresh puncture wounds, blood still slowly seeping out.

He can still feel Derek's lips on his own.

* * *

_Chapter title and lyrics are from the song "Lucky Me" by Alcoa._

_The last two chapter should be up sometime next week. Thanks for the patience on this one, guys! Hope you like :]_


	3. Sleepless Nights

**_Sleepless Nights_**

* * *

_Well we were just fine yesterday,  
Now today you're gone.  
But now in a second glance,  
You only need a second chance  
But I can't.  
I'm afraid that I'm not that strong._

_But I've been spending all sleepless nights,_  
_On the floor._  
_And now I don't even close my eyes,_  
_Anymore._  
_And I don't want it to happen twice;_  
_Cause we've been here once before._

* * *

"It all just felt like a dream..." Lydia says softly, staring down at her coffee. She and Stiles are sitting in a little cafe in town - he found her at school and told her that he needed someone to talk to, to her surprise - and she's telling him about her dreams. Her eerily similar dreams. "Actually, I figured they were just dreams until recently... Everyone just kept telling me it was post-traumatic-stress from the attack. But they were just so... real."

"What happened?" Stiles asks, trying to hide the fact that his hands are shaking when he picks up his drink.

"Same as you," She replies, "Really real feeling dream. And then I woke up in the middle of the woods. Naked. Lucky you at least had some clothes on..."

Stiles flashes her a half smile, "Sorry."

"But then I couldn't tell what was reality and what wasn't. I'd see him when I was awake. At school. At my house..." She continues, voice low.

"Who?"

"The man who attacked me."

Stiles eyes widen, "At the dance?"

She nods, taking a shuddering breath. Stiles can tell that it's the first time she's thought about it in a while - that she hasn't told anyone else - but she's trying to stay strong. Typical Lydia, can't let anyone know if she feels weak. "At first I saw him as a kid, our age. But then I started seeing him older... All burned and disgusting."

Makes sense. Peter _was_ burned alive. Stiles tries not to think about the fact that she dreamt of Peter Hale, and then he came back to life. He's sure there's more to it, but...

"He told me that I was special. That I could bring him back," She continues, shaking Stiles out of his thoughts. "Toward the end, I really didn't know what was a dream and what wasn't anymore... But the last thing I remember is being in that burnt down house, digging up the floorboards, and then he was there."

Stiles stares in shock for a moment, "He-"

"Came back to life, I guess. Or that's what he said," Lydia says lightly, shrugging it off. And there she is, putting that mask on again. "But it was just a dream."

Stiles swallows hard, staring down at his drink and struggling to decide if he should tell Lydia that it's not just a dream. That it's real. That she more than likely aided in bringing Peter back to life. Part of him also wonders why she decided to confide in him in the first place if she was just going to play it off like it wasn't a big deal, and while he sits there in silence, trying to work it out in his head, she jumps to conclusions.

"You've seen him too," She says breathlessly, staring wide-eyed at Stiles.

"Yeah - Well, no," He stutters in return, deciding against telling her that he _had_ lived. "But I'm having similar dreams."

"Who's in them?" She asks, leaning forward.

Stiles takes a deep breath. "Derek Hale."

"He-"

"Yeah," Stiles replies, gauging her face for a reaction.

"He's dead?" She asks softly, hiding whatever she's thinking behind that mask.

Stiles manages a nod, "And now I'm dreaming about him, how you dreamt of Peter."

Lydia stares at him, wide-eyed for a long moment before shrugging. "They're just dreams."

"Then why did you come to me, Lydia?" He asks, suddenly frustrated. Maybe it's because he realizes that she's dealing with it differently – and possibly better – than him. "If they're just _dreams_, why did you feel the need to talk to me about it?"

"I-" She stutters, wide eyed with surprise, "I just wanted you to know that you weren't alone. That's all…"

Stiles isn't sure why he does it - he doesn't want to terrify the poor girl - but at that, he pulls his sleeve up, revealing his bandaged arm. "Last night I dreamt that he scratched my arm," He says, voice hushed, "This morning I woke up with this. I don't think they're just dreams."

* * *

Stiles takes a sleeping pill that night.

He's certain that it's not healthy - that it's not right, wanting to see Derek in his dream, but he can't help it. After everything that he learned from Lydia, he needs to see him. He needs answers.

The dream begins almost immediately, and for a split second, Stiles actually thinks that he's not dreaming, because this one is different from the others. This time, he's standing in his own room and Derek is in front of him, as if he had been expecting him. But then, the walls begin to crumble away, and they're left standing in the middle of the woods again, with only Stiles' bed still anchoring them to his room.

"Sleeping pills?" Derek asks, as if he's somewhat disappointed.

"I needed to talk to you," Stiles quickly jumps to his own defense, "And since I only see you here, yeah. Sleeping pills."

"You talked to Lydia," Derek says, voice monotone. It's not a question.

"Yeah," Stiles breaths. He's temporarily distracted at how real Derek looks. Stiles wonders if he could bring Derek back to the real world just by gripping him tight and holding on.

"What did she say?" Derek asks, bringing him back down to Earth.

"She's the reason that Peter is alive," Stiles answers quickly, "I don't think she really realizes it or remembers a lot of it, but she is, isn't she?"

Derek stares at him for a beat before nodding, "She is."

"How?" Stiles asks immediately, "How did she do it?"

"Stiles-"

"If I'm dreaming about you, it means that I can do it too, right? So how did she do it?" Stiles pushes. He takes a moment to note how much easier it is for him to control the dream now. It doesn't change when his emotions do, and it's much easier for him to talk. It's getting better.

He also tries not to think about how he's practically _jumping_ at an opportunity to help Derek, no questions asked. _To bring him back to life._

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Derek says softly.

"How?" Stiles asks, eager to figure things out.

"She's immune to the bite," Derek explains, taking a couple of steps closer to Stiles. "Peter left a little piece of himself with her so she could bring him back. All she needed was someone with the same bloodline to finish the job."

"Okay..." Stiles pushes, waiting for the catch.

"That's it," Derek says, a little frustrated. "You're not immune. And there's nobody left. My family is dead. There's no way that you can bring me back."

"We don't know that I'm not immune," Stiles insists, "What about my scar? A wound that deep from a werewolf should have killed me or turned me, right? But I didn't turn." He tries not to think about how easy it is for him now, to talk about his scar and that fateful night like it's nothing. Like Derek didn't try to_ kill_ him.

Derek sighs in defeat, "Even still. There's nobody. My bloodline is dead. It wouldn't work."

Stiles stares at him - at the defeated look on his face for a long moment - before speaking again. "What if I _want_ it to work?" And when Derek just raises his eyebrows in response - challenging him - he continues, "With the mountain ash, all I needed to do was believe in myself. I just had to _want_ it to work. So what if the same thing applies here? If I want it enough, it should work, right?"

Derek avoids his eyes at that, and Stiles can't decide if it's because he's unsure, or if it's because he basically just announced his feelings for Derek, admitting how badly he wants him back. "It's possible," Derek finally says, though it pains him to do so, "But if you try it without another werewolf from my bloodline, it could kill you."

"But-"

"_No_ buts," Derek cuts him off, voice stern.

"Derek-"

Suddenly, Derek is taking a few steps forward so he's in Stiles' space, gripping tightly onto his arms. "I can't take that risk, Stiles. After all you've been through, you don't deserve that."

Stiles glares back, "So what? I just keep dreaming about you, then?"

Derek avoids his eyes, "I don't know."

"I don't know if I can handle that," Stiles says quickly, shaking his head, "As real as the dreams are, I don't think I can take that. It's not fair. I'll have to live every day with the reminder of what happened."

Derek doesn't say anything in response, so Stiles presses harder. "What have I really got to lose?" He asks, voice practically dripping with his own self-hatred, "Let's face it. My life is kind of a fucking wreck. If I can do this one _good_ thing, it's worth it, right?"

"Not at all," Derek growls out, glaring right back at Stiles.

"Why the _hell_ not?" Stiles asks in return, voice hard.

"Because I'm _not_ good," Derek replies quickly, as if he didn't even have to think about it, and maybe he didn't. "It would be a waste. I won't let you do that to yourself."

"Don't I have some say in it?" Stiles asks, eyes narrowing in a challenge. "It's _my_ choice, too."

"No it's not," Derek growls back, low and quiet, "What happened to me was for the best. You don't have to deal with me anymore. You should be moving on."

And then suddenly, Derek is unintentionally making Stiles feel bad for him, and Stiles finds himself wondering if _that's_ why he connects with Derek so much. Regardless of the reasons, neither of them feel necessarily great about themselves. Maybe, if Stiles can't fix himself, he can help Derek. _Maybe_. "I'm obviously not," Stiles replies, voice soft and low now, willing himself to calm down.

"I'm sorry," Derek breaths, still holding onto Stiles, "I didn't plan it this way."

"I know," Stiles sighs out in response, actually relaxing into Derek's touch.

"I should have ended it long ago," Derek continues, "I wish I never dragged you into any of this."

"Stop it," Stiles grits out at that. The look on Derek's face actually pains him, and he can't bear to see him like that. "I'm here now. So let's end this."

Derek stares at him for a long moment after that, trying to determine if Stiles is sure - if he really wants this - and when he doesn't see any doubt, he nods. It's reluctant, but he nods.

And before Stiles knows what he's doing, he's surging forward and pressing his own lips onto Derek's.

* * *

Stiles half expects to see Derek again at School on Friday, like he had before. But when nothing happens by the end of the day - despite him searching for Derek around every corner - he starts to lose hope. Derek had told him to give up. Even though he had agreed to let Stiles do what he wanted – including bringing him back – he hadn't given him any instructions. He didn't tell him what he needed to do, and Stiles had been too scared to ask.

Derek had told him that it was pointless, that Stiles would get himself killed if he tried anything stupid, and Stiles should have taken it as a hint that maybe the dreams and hallucinations would come to an end, but he didn't want to believe it. Not when Derek had agreed. Because he'd stick to his word this time, _right_?

As much as it would kill him - seeing Derek every night but not being able to actually touch him in the morning - he doesn't want the dreams to end. And by the time Stiles leaves school Friday afternoon, still looking for Derek's face in the crowd, he's starting to get the sinking feeling in his chest that it might really be over.

To make matters worse, he _doesn't_ dream of Derek that night.

In fact, when he wakes on Saturday morning, he can't even remember his dream. It's the first time that he doesn't vividly remember what he dreamed of since the night that Derek died. He doesn't want to get out of bed. He doesn't want to have to see his father and put on the fake smile that he's been wearing for months now. Not again. Not now.

So instead, Stiles does exactly what he wants to. He lays in bed for the majority of the morning, staring up at his ceiling, wondering why. _Why did he have to put me through this? Why couldn't things have ended differently? Why is he dead?_ With each silent question, Stiles just finds himself feeling worse and worse. Above everything, he had been hoping that the dreams would continue, because at least it was a way to right things - to make sure that Derek knew how terrible he felt about how things ended. Above everything, he wishes that the dreams would continue, so he could figure out how to bring Derek back. So he could make things right. Or at the very least, so he could escape reality for a little bit.

Once again, Stiles realizes how completely and utterly fucked up and unhealthy his relationship with Derek is, but he's far past the point of caring. He passed that point of no return when he held Derek in his arms, kissing him as he died. So he doesn't think it's fucked up to want him back, even if Derek tried to kill him all that time ago.

And now - now that the dreams and hallucinations seem to have stopped - he doesn't even get the chance to apologize properly. To make things right. Or to _really_ say goodbye.

His dad knocks on his door around one in the afternoon. Apparently Stiles looks pale and upset enough to pull off the "I'm not feeling well" excuse, and, with a concerned look on his face, his father leaves him be, telling him that he'll make him some soup. It's not a flat out lie, either. Stiles honestly doesn't feel well enough to get out of bed, but it's not because he's physically ill, it's because of Derek.

Of course. When _isn't_ it about Derek?

Stiles spends the rest of the day lying in bed, beating himself up for everything. It's his fault that Derek is dead. His fault that he stuck around even after he died. His fault that he's gone now. He pushed him away. He doesn't eat, not even when his father brings him some soup. And by the end of the day, Stiles almost starts to wonder if he even _really_ saw Derek. Before, he'd believe it if someone told him that the dreams and hallucinations were post traumatic stress, but he knows better. The puncture wounds on his arm tell him otherwise, and they're the only things that keep Stiles somewhat sane, while he's laying in bed that afternoon and that night.

He ends up taking a couple of sleeping pills that night, to rid himself of his restless mind, and to try to get a little bit of sleep, even if he knows that Derek won't be there to greet him. The last thing he thinks about before his eyelids are too heavy to keep open is how he wishes he could just make things right. He wishes he could bring Derek back, even if it cost him.

* * *

The majority of the night, Stiles' sleep is dreamless. It's nothing but black and a muffled mess of colors. It isn't until he feels cool air on his skin that he _finally _starts to dream.

Or well, it certainly _feels_ like a dream.

It's dark at first and Stiles can't see anything, but he can hear. He can hear the crunch of leaves under his feet - his bare feet - and he can feel the cool, damp air on his skin and the wet grass on his feet. He can hear an owl, off in the distance, as well as the occasional sound of a car, driving on a nearby road. It's all black at first, but Stiles can feel his legs carrying him steadily forward, as if he knows where he's going. He tries to stop himself, tries to open his eyes and see where he's going, but he can't. As much as he tries, he can't control his body. He's just along for the ride, and he hates these kinds of dreams.

He used to have them before. After his mother died, he used to dream about it. About her in the hospital, body failing, doctors and nurses rushing around her, and as much as Stiles tried, he couldn't get into the room. His legs were frozen on the spot, and he was forced to watch as she died in front of him. As hard as he tried, he couldn't move. He couldn't go to her. He'd wake up, crying and frustrated and alone until his dad heard him and came to comfort him.

He's even had similar dreams about Jackson, before. They were stupid reoccurring dreams - Jackson would say something awful to Stiles, and he'd go to hit him, but just before his fist connected with his face, it would just stop. It felt as if he was underwater, and as hard as he tried, he could never make the hit count. Even if he did connect with Jackson's face, it was nothing more than a soft touch, not the punch that he had meant.

The dreams were frustrating and awful, but back then, Stiles knew that he couldn't control his dreams. Now he can, so it makes it even worse when - no matter how hard he tries to dig his heels into the ground and stop - his feet keep moving.

Eventually, he does gain his sight, though. It isn't until after a long while of struggling to stop or see or wake up, but when he finally does, he quickly realizes that he's in the middle of the woods. It's surprisingly light outside - he can make out the silhouettes of the trees in front of him as well as the twigs and rocks on the ground - and he quickly realizes that it's because it's a full moon. Of course.

He tries to stop walking again once he gains his sight, but he can't. He wills his legs to stop, wills his heels to dig into the dirt, but he can't. So instead, he examines himself and his surroundings. At first, he tries to determine where exactly he is, then he starts to worry about whether he's still dreaming or not. As much as he wants it to be a dream - he really doesn't want to have to call Scott for help again - he's starting to think it's not. When he looks down at himself at last, Stiles quickly realizes that he's wearing the same clothes that he had worn to bed. No hoodie, and no shoes, like before. Just his sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He shivers at a small gust of wind, and it sure as hell _feels _real. But then again so did the fire and the spring air in his other dreams. So did Derek's claws and his grip and his kiss.

Stiles honestly isn't really sure what's real and what isn't anymore.

When he looks up again, Stiles quickly realizes that he's traveled a large distance in a short amount of time - and tries not to question it because it's _a dream, it has to be_ - and he's now standing in front of a small mound of dirt in the woods. It takes a moment for it to register in his mind, but as he stares at the mound of earth, still somewhat fresh as if it had been dug up recently, he realizes that it's a grave. A lone grave, in the middle of the woods.

And with a sinking feeling in his chest, Stiles quickly realizes that it's _Derek's_ grave.

He turns to his left at that to look around - searching for Derek, like always - and that's when he notices the shovel. It hadn't been there a moment ago, but he doesn't question it as his body moves on its own volition, picking it up. He tries, even though he knows it's useless, to stop moving, but can't again. His body is on auto-pilot and he's just there to watch as he begins to push the shovel into the soft dirt and dig.

It's as if Stiles knows exactly what he's doing as he starts digging into the grave, throwing dirt to the side with ease. And his heart starts beating faster with every inch he digs down into the earth.

Time passes by quickly again, and before he knows it, Stiles is looking down into a shallow grave at a burlap sack - much like the one that Laura Hale had been buried in - and his heart stops. He feels a pit in his stomach as he stares down into the grave and his mouth goes dry and he can't kid himself anymore. It doesn't feel like a dream anymore. It feels real, so horribly real – his head is spinning and his muscles are aching and he feels like he's going to vomit – and it feels real, save for the fact that he still can't control his body.

And when Stiles feels himself leaning forward despite everything inside of him screaming to stop - he doesn't want to see Derek, he can't - it takes all of his will power to turn away and look up at the sky. His body keeps moving, though, as if it's done this a hundred times before, and he can feel his fingers untying the rope and pulling the fabric away.

Stiles wants to close his eyes - wants to be anywhere but here - but he can't, so instead, he focuses his attention on the full moon above him, fresh tears now running down his face. He had wanted Derek back. He wanted to bring him back, but not like _this_.

_Oh God, no._

He winces as he feels his hand come in contact with cool flesh -

He doesn't want to be here. He can't look at Derek. It's not _fair_.

- And then his body stills, frozen in place. He feels ripping, searing pain, as if the touch is electrocuting him, but he can't pull away, can't rid himself of the pain, no matter how hard he tries. And _yeah_ it's definitely real. He has a split second to wonder if this is it - if he's actually dying, because it sure as hell feels like it - and then everything goes black.

* * *

_Chapter title and lyrics are from "Once Before" by Lewis Watson. One more chapter._


	4. A Million Minutes In The Making

_**A Million Minutes In The Making**_

* * *

_Stay by my side, 'cause I'm better than I was before.  
These seasons left me wanting more. This time I promise that I'll get it right_

* * *

When Stiles comes to, it's with a deep, gasping breath. And then another. And another, followed by a series of coughs at the surprisingly cool air. And once he starts to calm - once his body stops shaking with the gasping breaths and coughs - he can feel the hand on his back.

And then he can hear the voice.

"Stiles._ Stiles!_" It calls his name, but when he opens his eyes, everything is blurry. He can't put a face to the voice and everything is dark and he can't see and he immediately starts to panic. He can feel a second hand on his arm and he can hear the voice again, even though it sounds muffled, as if under water. "I've got you," It says, but it's laced with worry. Stiles can tell that much. "You've got to breathe. Hey. Stay with me, _Stiles_. _No, nonono!_"

He passes out again.

The second time Stiles wakes up, he feels like he's floating. He's barely conscious, unaware of what's going on or the fact that he's being cradled, and it feels as if he's _floating_. He can hear the voice again, but he can't make out what it's saying, and before he knows what's happening, he's slipping out of consciousness again.

"Stiles, come on, don't do this, you _can't_ do this. Not now, come on," The voice is talking to him when he finally comes to the third time, a good five minutes later. "Please," It begs, and even though it still sounds foggy and far away, Stiles can hear it. He latches onto it. "_Please_ stay with me."

Stiles takes in another deep breath and his lungs almost reject the clean air, threatening to throw him into yet another coughing fit before he shakily exhales. After that breath and the sharp, ripping pain of it in his chest, the rest come easier. Within seconds, he's sucking in sharp heaving breaths, panicking because his eyes are open but he still can't _see_ and everything is fuzzy and he doesn't know where he is or what's going on and-

"_Hey_," The voice breaths out again, and this time it sounds closer. Stiles grabs onto it, willing for the voice to pull him back to consciousness. To make things okay. "Hey, that's it," The voice says soothingly. It's a man and Stiles _knows_ that voice but he can't place a face or a name to it. Not now, when his mind is still a jumbled mess and he can't really see and he can't _move_.

"I-" He croaks out, and it immediately throws him into another coughing fit. It aches his chest and back and Stiles _almost_ passes out from the pain again, but then the voice is talking, anchoring him to the land of the living.

"You're alright," It soothes and now Stiles can feel the hand on his back again and another on his head, cradling him. "You're okay," It repeats. Stiles opens his mouth to try to talk again, but the voice is shushing him, "Don't talk, not now. You're not strong enough yet."

So instead, Stiles blinks his eyes rapidly, willing the fuzzy outlines of what looks like trees to form into something solid. And when the fog doesn't disappear right away, he begins to panic again. His hands scramble at the ground underneath him and his feet start to kick and he can _feel_ the dirt under his finger nails but he still can't _see_ and it's freaking him out and-

"Shh," The voice is there again, louder, closer. Stiles knows that if he reached out, the person attached to the voice would be right there in front of him, so that's exactly what he does. And if he didn't know any better, he's say that they're smiling when they speak again, Stiles' hand pressed against their chest. He tightens his grip on the shirt, balling his hand into a fist around the fabric, refusing to let go. "That's right. Good," It soothes, "Just take it slow. You're going to be fine."

Stiles tries to calm himself, understanding that he's not going to fix anything if he panics. So instead of worrying about the fact that he still can't talk or see, he tries to remember what happened. He tries to piece together what brought him to this point.

_The woods_. He remembers walking through the woods. Or he thinks he does. Or was it a dream? _Or is this still a dream_?

Stiles almost starts to panic again at that, but the hand in his hair strokes him gently and he takes another deep breath, shutting his eyes and trying to remember. He decides that it _wasn't_ a dream. He can feel the dirt on his hands and hear the trees creaking in the wind which means he's _still_ outside, but why? What _happened_?

He remembers walking through the woods and he remembers the grave and-

"_Derek_," Stiles manages to grit out without even realizing it. His voice is loud in his ears and it sounds and feels like he's been swallowing broken glass, but he manages to speak the one word. Stiles remembers digging up the grave - or _dreaming_ about digging up the grave - and he remembers looking up at the sky, trying not to cry and then _white hot pain and screaming,_ which probably explains his voice.

"Stiles," The voice returns, and _that_ strikes something deep in his chest because now that he can remember - now that he can _think_ - he can place a face to the voice and-

"You're alright," The voice - _Derek_ - soothes again, fingers softly stroking his hair. "You're okay, I've got you."

Stiles opens his eyes.

It's fuzzy at first, but the lines quickly sharpen out, unlike before. And before he knows it, Stiles is looking up at the tree line, illuminated by the full moon, then at the ground, and then he's lifting his head, just slightly, to look up at the man cradling his body.

"_Derek_?" Stiles repeats, voice barely above a whisper. It hurts his throat and scratches as he speaks, but he can't keep silent, not when he's looking up at _Derek Hale_, who's hunched over him and are those _tears_ on his cheeks?

"Yeah," Derek chokes out, actually smiling a small smile down at Stiles.

"Am I dreaming?" Stiles rasps in return, and Derek's little smile turns into a full-out grin at that.

"_No_."

Stiles lets his eyes rake over Derek's body at that - or at least the bit that he can see without lifting his head because it _kills_ him to try - and his chest tightens. Derek is wearing the same clothes from over a month ago - the clothes that he had _died_ in. When Stiles does sit up a bit more - even though it pains him to do so - he notices that there's dark, dried blood on Derek's shirt. _Derek's_ own blood from the gunshot wound. He swallows hard.

"You're-" He starts to ask, but he can't bring himself to finish it.

"Yeah," Derek chokes out in return.

"_Really_?" Stiles asks, sitting up a bit more. Derek shifts underneath him to accommodate the new position and to steady Stiles, should he need it. Thankfully, he regains more control of his body and mind the longer that he's awake. "This isn't going to disappear?"

Derek smiles again, "No."

Stiles manages to look around at that, quickly realizing that they're sitting on the front porch of the Hale household. If he looks off into the distance - though he _really_ doesn't want to - he can see the shovel still sticking out of the ground where he remembers planting it. He swallows hard, turning back to Derek. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Derek manages to replies, voice hard, strained.

"You mean you didn't-"

"I didn't want you to do this," Derek answers honestly, and Stiles isn't surprised at the pang in his chest at that. "I knew it would hurt you, if not worse."

"I didn't have any control of it," Stiles explains, voice stronger with every word he speaks, "I thought it was a dream. I tried to stop but I couldn't. You don't think-"

"I do," Derek replies before Stiles even has a chance to finish his thought, "Maybe it's how you thought it was. If you _wanted_ it enough, it could happen."

"But _you_ didn't want it," Stiles croaks, looking down.

Derek's hand is suddenly under his chin at that, cupping it and pulling his face back up, "I didn't want you to get hurt. I never said I didn't want _this._"

"We'll I'm alright now," Stiles manages to return, smiling and trying to mask the way that his body still hurts and the way that his heart spikes. He also tries not to think about how it's becoming _normal_ for things like this to happen to him. As if bringing someone back to life is an everyday experience.

"_You weren't_," Derek replies, teeth clenched.

Stiles narrows his eyes in confusion, "Well I mean it knocked me out, but-"

"You were _dying_," Derek replies, eyes hard when he looks at Stiles, "When I came to, you were on the ground dying."

"But-"

"_Now_ you're alright," Derek agrees, reading Stiles' thoughts, "But I thought I was losing you. I brought you here, and I was getting ready to call for Scott."

"But he'd-"

"Kill me, I'm aware of that," Derek replies, voice hard, "It was reckless, Stiles."

"I didn't have any control of it!" Stiles argues, trying to sit up, but stops short when a sharp pain shoots down his spine. Derek is suddenly very close to him, cradling him again and helping him sit up slowly.

"I know," Derek replies, smiling tightly, "I'm just glad you're alright." Stiles should find it odd how easy it is for them to act _normal_ around one another, like they used to when they first met, but that's the furthest thing from his mind right now, especially when Derek is looking at him like _that_. And when Stiles tries to sit up again at that, his cries out in pain and falls backwards.

"_Easy_," Derek whispers, breath soft against Stiles ear when he pulls him gently back up into sitting position, "It's going to be a bit before you can stand again." He goes to pull back at that, to make sure that Stiles is okay - that he's not in pain anymore - but as he does, Stiles reaches forward with one hand, grasping at the nape of Derek's neck and pulling him forward again. Before Derek even has a chance to react – or before Stiles has a chance to think about what he's doing – he's pressing their lips together, rough and demanding, and the kiss is full of pent up emotions and longing and hatred and pain and it's _beautiful_.

Derek is still for only a moment before he's practically _whimpering_ and leaning into the kiss, hand finding its way from Stiles shoulder up into his hair. And when Stiles opens his mouth and Derek's taste floods in, it's everything that he needed it to be - dangerous and harsh, but also soft and careful - and above all, _real_. The kisses in his dreams - the quick, fleeting pecks, testing the water - are nothing compared to a _real_, wanted kiss.

Stiles gasps for a deep breath once they're pulling apart and without warning, Derek pulls him in tight, wrapping his arms around Stiles' waist protectively. And Stiles can feel Derek's body shaking against his own his deep heaving breaths and sobs, and he knows that he made the right choice. Derek's just as broken and confused and scared as he is, and maybe that means that they need each other. And as they grip tightly onto one another Stiles realizes that no matter how wrong or scary or stupid it felt it the beginning, all of the second thoughts are worth it when Derek takes a deep breath and mutters out, _"Thank you._"

"For what?" Stiles whispers in return.

Derek separates them at that, looking Stiles straight in the eyes and smiling a small but genuine smile. "For forgiving me," He replies simply.

And though they're only three words, they say _everything_. Stiles _had_ forgiven him. He had forgiven Derek for stringing him on for months, manipulating him and scaring him into cooperation. He had forgiven Derek for panicking when things went wrong and taking his best friend hostage. And he had forgiven him a month ago - as he sat on the cool floor of Derek's house, watching him die - for that night, over a year ago when Derek made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

When Stiles said goodbye to Derek in his own bedroom over a month ago and told him that he could let him go, but he'd never be able to trust him - never be able to forgive him - he had never been more wrong. They'll figure it out. They'll find a way for Derek to get better, to start over. Though it's going to be hard - Stiles' life is rarely _easy_ - he's not going to let him go. Not again. And when he allows Derek to lean in again, pressing their lips together for a second time, he knows why letting him go back then felt so wrong.

Of course he'd fall for the man who tried to kill him. _Typical Stiles_.

* * *

_AN: I absolutely loved writing this chapter! Usually, happy endings feel really cheesy to me, but I'm really happy with how this turned out.  
Thank you all for sticking with me throughout The Killer In You and this short little sequel. I hope that this ending was everything you wanted!  
The Killer In You universe is officially done (unless I miraculously come up with another idea for these two) but it's been a great ride, guys! Thank you all for your wonderful feedback and comments over these past few months!_

_The title of this chapter and the lyrics at the beginning are from the song "A Million Minutes In The Making" by The American Scene. _


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